


Drowning

by charn14



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Although keeping close to who they were based on interviews, Basketball player Tyler, Christianity, Depression, Gen, High School AU, Self Harm, This may or may not be rough, punk josh, religious josh, religious tyler
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 08:27:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7567168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charn14/pseuds/charn14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josh is beginning to spiral. His emotions and moods are getting the best of him, and he's beginning to wonder what Heaven may be like.</p><p>Previously titled: "I Feel Like I'm Drowning"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> At this point I don't know if this will be a Joshler fic or not. The relationship may just be platonic, I haven't decided. I also don't know much about how church services work, so bear with me and feel free to give me advice. I know at least it changes from congregation to congregation. Finally, I'm making it my goal to actually finish this fic because god knows I haven't finished any long work before.

“Wake up, Joshua. You will make us late.”

Josh groaned and rolled over on his side. His mother knocked on the door a couple more times; sharp, deep bangs on his bedroom door. Josh glanced as his clock, which said 6:32. Josh huffed at the sight and pulled his covers over his head.

He drifted in and out of consciousness, until he was startled again by louder, more eager bangs against his door. “Joshua William Dun,” his father’s deep voice reverberated in his room, “you better be getting ready. You have no chance to have breakfast anymore. We’re leaving in five minutes.”

Josh slowly opened his eyes and met the clock again. 6:43. He propped himself on his elbows and pulled off his covers. He moved his head from side to side in an attempt to pop his neck.

A few more quick raps fell against his door. “Get up, Joshua!” His mom scolded.

“I’m up!” Josh bit back. “Jeez…” He mumbled to himself as he moved to his closet. He dug through the half-assed clothes, looking for something nice to wear. His Sunday’s best was ruined last week after he spilt wine (or possibly grape juice, he wasn’t sure) over himself during last Sunday's Communion. His mom hadn’t gotten the chance to buy him a new shirt.

He finally settled on a striped button down. It wasn’t fantastic, it was actually pretty casual. However, it would have to do. He slipped on some black slacks and fastened a belt around his waist.

Josh reached to the shelf above his clothes to grab his dress shoes. As the pulled them off, his shoebox fell. Onto the ground, his secret possessions fell; a PlayBoy magazine, two cigarettes, a lighter, and a box cutter.

“Sh―!” Josh stopped himself before he cursed and fell to his knees. He quickly shoved the items back into the box, although he stopped at the box cutter. He suddenly felt the urge to use it. He turned it around in his hand, flicking the blade up and down a couple times. He couldn't help but stare at it. He could feel it against this thigh, like he always did. If he just had enough time, he could.

“We’re leaving now, let’s go!” His mother barged into his room, and he quickly hid the blade in the box.

“I’m almost ready, give me a minute!” Josh snapped. “God, I just need to put on my shoes.”

His mother, clearly annoyed with him, glared. “Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain, Joshua. We’ll be in the car.”

Josh rolled his eyes as she closed the door. He pulled on his shoes before pushing himself up, box in hand. He stashed it back in his closet and closed the door.

Rushing downstairs to the car, he spotted himself in the mirror. Despite his clothes, he didn’t look prepared for church at all. His hair was a mess of pink curls and sweat. His black gauges stood out against his pale skin, and he still had his lip piercing in, although it annoyed him to no end.

Josh grabbed his winter coat and ran outside to where everyone was waiting. It was a cold November morning as he dashed towards the car. Clouds hung over the city, dark grey from the early morning light. A light dusting of snow rested on the sidewalks, and snow was still falling.

Josh slipped into the van as his sister Ashley opened the door for him. He crawled into the back with Jordan, and they were on their way to church.

 

As they arrived as seven, the snow began to fall harder. The lights of the church caught the snow, making everything seem both lighter and darker at the same time. The bells rang out around them, signaling for the early morning service. People greeted each other outside, but quickly moved in to avoid the worsening weather.

Josh followed closely behind Ashley, keeping his head down. Even though most people in the congregation knew of Josh’s appearance for awhile, there would always be a few (especially those belonging to the older generations) who would stare at him.

The thing was, Josh looked this way in order to feel different. He felt comfortable with the hair and the gauges. It wasn’t a _complete_ act of rebellion, although he did feel confined by his family values.

Hell, Josh loved church. He was a faithful Christian boy, through and through. However, his faith had been waning recently.

His fell in line with his family as his father picked a pew near the front. He sat waiting for the service to start, looking over to his father who was chatting with another man next to him.

Josh glanced up at the choir. It was mostly filled with other high school students, some of them which he knew. As he looked over, he noticed one boy was glaring at him with a smug look on his face. He looked almost disgusted with Josh. Of course, Josh was used to the attention, but something about the way the boy looked at him pissed him off. Josh returned the sneer before looking away.

A pastor rose to the podium at the front of the church, demanding attention through his calm demeanor. A wave of silence fell across the congregation.

“Thank you all for coming, this morning,” the pastor said. Josh glanced back at the choir, where the boy looked intently at the pastor. “I hope you all had a safe journey on the way. Today, I’d like to begin by singing ‘Before the Throne of God’...” The pastor trailed off as everyone went for the hymn books in front of them. Josh picked up one himself and flipped to the song.

Soon the entire congregation began to sing. Josh mumbled along, but continued to glance up at the choir. They were the only ones properly singing.

Before the throne of God above  
_  
_ I have a strong and perfect plea.

_A great high Priest whose Name is Love_

_Who ever lives and pleads for me._

_My name is graven on His hands,_

_My name is written on His heart._

_I know that while in Heaven He stands_

_No tongue can bid me thence depart._

 

_When Satan tempts me to despair_

_And tells me of the guilt within,_

_Upward I look and see Him there_

_Who made an end of all my sin._

_Because the sinless Savior died_

_My sinful soul is counted free._

_For God the just is satisfied_

_To look on Him and pardon me._

 

_Behold Him there the risen Lamb,_

_My perfect spotless righteousness,_

_The great unchangeable I AM,_

_The King of glory and of grace,_

_One in Himself I cannot die._

_My soul is purchased by His blood,_

_My life is hid with Christ on high,_

_With Christ my Savior and my God!_

 

Josh plays the lyrics over in his head. _One in Himself I cannot die._ The idea seemed appealing to him. To him, Heaven always sounded peaceful, better than where he was. The thought of an eternal paradise made him feel homesick. If there is happiness just beyond this life, why is he stuck here?

He glanced out the window near him. The snow was falling more now. He wondered, is there snow in heaven? Is it cold, or does it snow with warmth?

He continued to ponder eternal life throughout the service, not paying much attention. He noticed the one choir boy, maybe seventeen years old, come down once the hymn portion of the service ended. He sat with the family next to them. His dad must be the man his own father was speaking with. Josh knew he seemed familiar. He probably has seen him around school, but he wouldn't be able to pinpoint his name. No classes together, Josh thought.

Soon, the service ended. By soon, Josh assumed it was an hour or two, depending. He wasn’t sure. Josh had been going through the motions recently and not paying much attention to services or the messages shared. Today there was talk about inviting God’s love or something, Josh wasn’t sure. All he did was stare at the Bible in front of him, saying “Amen” when needed, and so on.

As his family got up and shuffled out, Josh noticed his father still talking to the man. His son eyed Josh once more, looking even more disgusted. Maybe he had noticed Josh’s lack of attention during the sermon.

Josh whispered to Ashley that he would be outside. He moved his way down the aisle and out the church doors. He forgot to pick up this coat but didn’t much care. He looked up at the sky and the falling snow. It was definitely lighter than before, but now the air around him was dense with fat snowflakes falling gently to earth.

Josh kept his eyes on the sky. He wondered what was beyond the clouds, the atmosphere. He wondered where heaven was. Is there even a heaven? He asked himself.

He stood alone in the cold. His lungs felt tight from breathing in the chill air. He let his shoulders go limp as he he looked around. He felt alone in the world, as of this moment. He didn’t know if he liked the feeling or not. Then again, he wasn’t sure if the feeling was entirely new.

“Hey.” Josh turned,startled. The boy from the choir walked out, the only other person. He pulled his coat over his arms. “You’ll catch your death out here.” The boy glanced up. “It’s freezing. It’s, what, twenty degrees out?”

Josh shook his head. “I’m fine.” He voice sounded faint, like his voice itself was frozen. “Thanks for the concern.” The boy shrugged and walked off the steps.

Josh paused for a moment. “Hey, by the way,” the boy spun around to face Josh. Josh’s breath caught in his throat for a moment as he tried to assert himself in some way. It was a short pause but noticeable. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t stare at me, next time.” Josh attempted to sound polite, but he didn’t know if it came across in that way.

The boy just nodded before turning and walking to his car.

And Josh was alone again.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is particularly rough with "graphic depictions"of self harm (going into detail about what the cuts look like, rather than the pain associated with it). I'd still advise that you don't read it because of such things. And, for that reason, I'm bumping it up to a Mature rating.
> 
> Stay safe, all of you.

Josh and his family made it home despite the weather. The fat flakes soon began to fall hard, causing white out conditions. In the front, his parents talked quietly about not being able to make it to brunch with people.

The moment the family got home, Josh pulled himself out of the car and ran to his room. He stripped down into his boxers, peeling his now wet clothes off himself. He climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling, keeping his covers close to his neck.

Josh kept his curtains drawn, which caused his room to feel small. Darkness permeated as well due to the grey chill outside, despite it being late morning. The darkness calmed him, while at the same time it did nothing to help his already distressed mood.

He felt exhausted from the service this morning despite not really engaging in anything. Thinking of sitting with all those people one more time made him feel weak in the knees. He pulled the covers closer to him and rolled over onto his side. He brought his knees up to his chest and tried to sleep.

Except he couldn’t. Josh groaned with each toss and turn, frustrated that he couldn’t fall asleep. He had been trying for what felt like an hour now, since he got home. His mind jumped between flashes of blood soaked hands and smiling faces, from the box cutter in his closet to the choir boy from earlier. None of the images made him feel better, and instead he fell deeper into his bed in an attempt to run away from them and fall asleep.

Josh pulled the covers off his head for a moment and looked at the clock, 11:04. He turned and closed his eyes. A few minutes later, he huffed and turned back. 11:12. 

He growled to himself and threw off his covers. He rubbed his face and eyes as he paid close attention to the tightness in his chest. For several months now, that vice has not let up. It felt like pent up anger and held back tears and overwhelming guilt. He didn’t feel like he could get rid of it, no matter how many times he cried or screamed. The feeling wouldn’t go away, he couldn’t breathe at all. He was sure that he hasn’t breathed since May. He felt like he was drowning in the slowest, most painful way possible. 

So far he has only found one way to relieve the ache in his chest. He pulled himself out of bed and made his way to his closet.

He pulled down the box from earlier, throwing the lid open. On top of all his treasures was the same box cutter. He never got the chance to flick the blade back down when his mother barged in. The metal seemed dull and matte in the dark room. 

He grabbed the handle and watched the blade all the way back to his bed. He set down the box on his nightstand as he brought one leg to his body. 

Using the point of the blade, he dug the box cutter into his flesh just above the knee. He held it there for a moment. He felt the pain, but it didn’t register clearly in his head at first. Josh felt the pressure, and he was aware of the sting caused by the sharp edge, but he didn’t think anything of it.

He pulled the box cutter straight across. He pressed the blade forcefully against his leg, making sure to draw blood. Soon the grip in his chest loosened, but not enough. 

Josh thought so because of the blade. He struggled with using a box cutter at times. It didn’t have a long edge, there wasn’t enough sting, the pain didn’t feel right. He had to press so hard to get his skin to break. The handle was bulky and awkward, and it didn’t feel right. He liked to think if he found a razor blade it would be different, or maybe even a knife.

He relaxed, still, despite the pain washing over him. The moment it began to subside, he felt as though his chest moved more, and he could take deeper breaths.

Josh continued this ritual for several minutes, and with each slice and dig, he felt the anger and sadness break off. However, it still clung to his heart. A rock sat in his chest that he couldn’t chip away at.

A sharp knock came at his door. Josh jumped, startled, and dug the point of the blade deep into his skin causing a puncture wound. He cursed at the unwelcomed pain as he threw the box cutter under his pillow and pulled his covers up towards his body, just enough to cover his legs. “What, what?” Panic resided in his voice.

“Lunch is ready when you are,” Ashley said from the other side of the door. “Mom wants you to actually eat something this time.”

Josh stumbled over his words. “Tell her I’ll be there in a second.” He tried to sound calm despite the rising anxiety in his throat. His chest tightened ever so slightly.

Ashley mumbled an okay as Josh heard her muffled footsteps go down the hall. Josh pulled back the covers, and he was met with a wave of guilt.

The underside of his comforter was now stained with blood. He had four long cuts across the bottom of his thigh, along with other cuts in varying degrees of healing; scabbed cuts from the past few weeks, to old, bubbled scars that didn’t look quite like skin, and red and irritated wounds in between covered his thigh in haphazard patterns.

He pulled the box cutter from under his pillow, and he inspected the pillowcase. Specks of blood rubbed off from what little was on the blade. 

He felt lower than before. What Josh had chipped away at earlier came back in full force as he returned to the shallow breaths he knew too well. Guilt clung to him like flies on rotting meat. All Josh could think is,  _ how could I do this? _ He felt wrong, he felt like he was a failed science project. He was tearing apart this gift, this body, he was given.

And then anger came back. If this goddamned thing was a gift, why did he feel weak all the time? Why did he feel lethargic? What the hell did he do wrong to feel like such a piece of  _ shit  _ all the time?

Josh waged this war in his head, fighting between guilt and anger, wondering why he deserved this, and at the same time feeling like he did deserve this. Over and over in his head, Josh thought of sin and damnation. He brought this on himself. This is punishment. All of this is punishment and─

Another knock, this time softer. “Josh, are you alright?” It was Abigail this time. “Mom made you a sandwich. Come out, please.”

Josh shook his head, holding a washcloth to his leg which he got from his bathroom. “I’m not hungry.” He sounded worn and broken, like he had either just woken up, or like he had stayed up for far too long. 

“Mom said you had to eat something this time.” Abigail sounded irritated.

“Well too bad, go away.” He listened to her walk away, and he relaxed. Josh moved the washcloth, and the rough fabric pulled against the open wounds. He hissed at the sting, closing his eyes tightly to fight the pain. 

Abigail knocked on the door once more. “I’m coming in with food. Mom told me to bring this up to you.” Josh panicked, his hands shaking visibly as he grabbed the box cutter and shoved it into the shoebox once more today. “N─not decent, one second.” Josh held the washcloth to his leg as he pulled up his covers to his chest. He flipped onto his side, facing away from the door. “Alright, you’re good.”

He didn’t see her, but Josh listened as Abigail approached him. He sensed her as she got close. He heard her shift the shoebox off the nightstand and onto the floor, followed by the plate tapping against the wood as she put it down.

A few more footsteps, followed by his door closing, and Josh was alone again. He didn’t reach for the sandwich, instead he drifted through his thoughts again. The choir boy, the box cutter, his fresh wounds, all swam through his mind as he lied there. Smiles and frowns, he couldn’t keep them out of his eyes. 

Instead of fighting them, he let them stay there behind his eyelids as he fell into an aching nap.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't proof read, so feel free to point out mistakes. Constructive criticism welcomed and encouraged, but please do not bash. Finally, title may be subject to change but who knows.
> 
> For the title right now: I've come to realize that, at least for my personal experiences with depression, it feels like I'm drowning. I can never quite catch my breath, I'm exhausted trying to fight, and I feel like I'm drifting along. So, the title is based on that feeling.
> 
> Warnings, Age Rating, Relationships, and Title Subject to Change.


End file.
